Archive for the 'Poetry' Category

Goodnight friends, lights of the city!
A bullet between your space and mine.
I return to an immense silence,
Leaving your thronged pavements to the unfaithful
Who emerge, as always, after the sun has set.
Your mountains surround, but only serve to trap
The stagnant and immobile air.
The ardent shadows of your towers conceal poisons.
I would rather search bald hills
For veins of silver.
It has been done before. It can be done again
By wanderers who still cherish the element of surprise.

Paying no attention to where I’m going.
I pilfered your gift for radar…
You loved me once,
Therefore I cannot lose.
I will not be swayed, or end my numbered days hypnotized
By my reflections in your thousand windows,
Chaotic forces, canted buildings,
Back streets, monuments, pendulums.
Grounded and content,
I want to see you from a distance, but not at any price.
Think about it!

What is the difference between
Endless pleasure, seduction, speed,
Virtual reality, and liberated illusion?
Images spring to mind, meld.
The body language of birds and predators,
Our gavotte between tables after hours,
The meagre results of the chase.
One must be delirious to race through
Several lifetimes like that,
Or unaware of lives previous, pulled apart by unstoppable currents.
You and I were linked together, joining the herd
In the industrial quarter under the black rain.

You said, “Welcome to Paradise!”
But men, women are not miracles,
Only half finished bridges between
Mute things of flesh and sex and the angels.
You were misguided but generous in your fashion.
I feel so helpless watching you sink,
But must cut and run before it is too late.
I can´t remember waking up.
I just became aware of all my senses at once,
Nerves stripped bare, worn on the outside
Like an electric net.
I have the strength now to say it’s over.

Good night friends, lights of the city!
I see the armies retreating, disenchanted.
Soon the body will have no heat.
There are already vandals in your alleys.
I must preserve my dreams in colour,
Not black and white.
I became as empty as your plazas in the end.
Your lamps are burning even in the daytime,
Inside the cavities of structures without entrails,
Of confident, arrogant, blind stainless steel and glass.
Your air smells sour and sweet.

Sentinels, gaping forms of muscle and bone,
Parchment and hair are everywhere down,
Recumbent and ablaze,
Samaritans perhaps,
Keepers of a temporary surrogate life of wax
That shines and drips,
Creating dignity at the finish.
Temporary, to be extinguished amongst carnage.
Your powerline arteries writhe like serpents.
Everything will soon be wet and decrepit.
A verdant apocalypse is coming,
Yellow, orange and red.

I gaze into a mirror.
My younger self hovers nearby,
Giving me back the freedom to
Walk on forever.
If we are introduced again,
Keep our secrets intact.
Wear a poker face and expect nothing.
Try to feel nothing at all.